


Scouting For Demons

by JeanieNitro



Series: The Hole in the Chalk Gang [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Also Warlock has never been outside unsupervised, Aziraphale is Harriet Dowling's brother, Aziraphale's Name is Ezra (Good Omens), Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Kids are funny and so are their shennanigans, Lighthearted, Only Child Warlock doesn't know how to have friends, Warlock is on TikTok, he doesn't know how to handle all this freedom, or unsupervised in general, unrestrained summer fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25410640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanieNitro/pseuds/JeanieNitro
Summary: The year he is 12, Warlock Dowling gets sent to live with his Uncle Ezra for the summer in a little farmhouse near the small village of Tadfield, where he meets Adam and the Them. While coming up with fun things to do over the summer holidays, they stumble on an old book about demon summoning in Uncle Ezra's library. But do the rituals listed inside actually work? Why is Uncle Ezra so good at dealing with demons?A Gravity-Falls/Hardy Boys-style semi-human AU. Beginning of an ongoing series - this work will be a two-chapter, "extra-long opener", and each subsequent work should contain about the same amount of plot as an episode of a TV show. The series is going to be heading in an eventual Ezra/Crowley direction but the focus here is all on the kids.
Series: The Hole in the Chalk Gang [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840429
Comments: 14
Kudos: 20
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	Scouting For Demons

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing is Janthony's fault. It has been severely aided and abetted by Ams. Without either of them, this fic would not exist. 😘
> 
> As a heads up, due to both writer and artist having additional commitments, the second chapter will likely not be up for another month or two. I sincerely apologize in advance.

Sitting next to him in the back seat of the car, Warlock’s mother is checking something on her phone again. Warlock is staring out the window, although there’s not really anything _to_ see. They left London and its outskirts a while ago, and now they’re alternating between driving through roads that might as well be solid tunnels of trees and breaking out only to drive past random fields and farms, and the occasional cottage. 

“How much farther is it again, James?” his mum asks.

“Not long, ma’am, only a few more minutes,” James says.

Warlock sighs. His mother’s eyes snap up from her phone. 

“Really, Warlock, no need to be dramatic. We haven’t been in the car _that_ long.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get _out_ of the car, did you think of that?” he mumbles, mostly to himself but loud enough that his mother definitely hears him.

This time it’s his mother’s turn to sigh. “Oh sweetie, you _know_ you would just be terribly bored if we brought you with us. You _hate_ having to get all dressed up and do diplomatic things, and that’s all we’re going to be doing, really. We’re not going to have time to do anything that would be fun for you.”

“Like there’s going to be anything fun for me to do out here?” Warlock mumbles, only mostly to himself. 

His mother sighs, like she always seems to do around him. He doesn’t give her the satisfaction of responding to it, though. She’s going to dump him out in the country with his weird uncle she’s only ever talked about like once, she can feel bad about it.

A few minutes later, James puts on the indicator and turns into what looks like a dirt road but turns out to be a long driveway when the house comes into view. It’s . . . really small, actually. He’s probably just spoiled by Winfield House but Warlock had for some reason imagined that his uncle would be living in some giant, secluded manor. It’s certainly secluded, but it’s far from giant. Just a dingy, old-fashioned farmhouse made out of brick and white siding.

As the car pulls up, crunching on the gravel driveway, the door to the house opens and a man comes out. Pudgy, dressed in weird, old-fashioned clothes, with frizzy, fluffy hair that Warlock can’t decide if it’s white or just really light blond. This must be Uncle Ezra. He stands on the step, squinting into the sun, looking like something out of one of those period dramas that were always rerunning on TV.

The car stops, and the driver gets out to hold the door for his mother. She unfolds herself from the car and stands gracefully, all poise and charm. She’s definitely nervous; that’s her I’m-going-to-dinner-with-lots-of-important-people-and-there-might-be-cameras smile. Not that Warlock is entirely sure he’s seen a real smile from her, but this definitely isn’t it.

“Ezra!” she says, Very Cheerfully.

“Hattie,” he says. He’s smiling too, although Warlock would bet anything that’s not his real smile either. It looks more nervous than anything else, especially with the way he’s clasping his hands in front of him, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“It’s been a while,” Warlock’s mother says.

“Yes, well. You’ve been very busy,” Uncle Ezra says. Warlock’s mother sags a little, but it’s certainly true. “And, erm, where’s the boy?” he says, when the silence gets too awkward.

Warlock’s mother gestures at the car, then makes “come here” motions with her hand. “Come on out, Warlock, there’s a dear,” she says. He sighs, and finally cracks the door open. He scuffles his way through the gravel to where they are.

“He’s, er, going through a bit of a phase,” his mother says, gesturing at him (and presumably his outfit — she really doesn’t like the black skinny jeans and the band shirt, but since they’re not going anywhere official, he can dress how he likes). “Warlock, come on now, say hi to Uncle Ezra.”

“‘llo,” he says. He doesn’t take his hands out of his pockets.

“Well, hello there, young fellow!” Uncle Ezra says. “I haven’t seen you since, well . . .” his face falls a little. “Well, since before you were old enough to remember it, that’s for sure. What a fine lad you’ve grown into.”

Warlock can’t think of a response to this, so he doesn’t say anything.

There are several more seconds of awkward silence.

Uncle Ezra claps his hands together. “Well! Shall we, er, get the luggage in?”

This seems to shake Warlock’s mother out of her awkwardness. “James, can you help us with the luggage?” she says. 

James dutifully hauls Warlock’s luggage out of the car. “You want me to carry this into the house?” he says.

“Oh, no need for that, I’m quite sure we’ll manage,” Uncle Ezra says. “Although you’re welcome to come in for a spot of tea,” he says, looking hopeful.

Warlock scoffs. 

His mother looks at him sharply, but immediately says “Oh I’m afraid we can’t, I have to get right back so that we can head to the airport,” which is why Warlock scoffed in the first place. His mother literally never has time for anything ever, and the disappointed look that flits over his Uncle Ezra’s face is one Warlock himself knows all too well, so he tries not to think about it.

“Come here, honey, come give your mum a goodbye hug,” his mother says. He lets her hug him, although he still doesn’t take his hands out of his pockets or hug her back. She tuts at him, but _she’s_ the one abandoning _him_ for the entire summer, she doesn’t get to be upset that he’s upset.

“And thank you so much, Ezra, really,” she says. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He lets out a little sigh. “Of course, Hattie, that’s what family’s for.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll manage. Go on then, catch your important flight.”

His mother makes a regretful face. “I’ll make sure I’m free when I come to pick him up, all right? We can have tea and catch up then.”

“Of course,” his uncle says, smiling like he doesn’t believe it. 

“You be good now, Warlock, okay?” She levels him a stern look.

Warlock rolls his eyes. She continues to glare. “Yes, mum, fine, I promise I’ll be good.”

“That’s my boy,” she says, and pats his cheek. Her bracelets jingle. She turns towards the car and tries to pick her way across the gravel driveway in heels as fast as she can without turning an ankle. Warlock and Ezra watch her go, standing on the porch with the luggage. 

The car crunches out of the driveway and is out of sight for several seconds before Ezra lets out a long sigh. “Well, let’s get this up to your bedroom then, shall we?” he says, gesturing to the luggage. He grabs the larger one and gestures for Warlock to take the smaller one.

The house feels small and close, narrow hallways made narrower by being absolutely _crammed_ with bookshelves, pictures, knicknacks, and strange dusty objects that Warlock couldn’t even begin to guess the use of. They haul Warlock’s luggage up way too many stairs (is the whole house stairs?) and into a small dingy white room that’s barely big enough to fit a bed. There’s a small square window that looks out over some grass on the one side, and the other side of the room is just wall-to-wall drawers and shelves. 

“I cleared out some of those drawers for you if you’d like to put your things in there,” his uncle says.

“Okay,” Warlock says, not really sure what else to say. Silence stretches out between them for a few seconds.

“Well, that’s that,” Uncle Ezra says eventually, clearing his throat awkwardly. “How about a spot of lunch?”

“I’m . . . not really hungry,” Warlock says. “I’m actually kind of sick from the car, can I just hang out in my room for a while?” It’s not exactly a lie. He’s not really feeling up to having to sit and eat food and make small talk with his uncle right now.

“Well, very well, er, let me know if you need anything,” Uncle Ezra says. “I’ll just be in the library, don’t hesitate to give a shout.”

After Uncle Ezra leaves, Warlock pulls out his phone to see what’s trending on TikTok. He realizes, belatedly, that he forgot to ask what the WiFi password was. Then, as he pulls up the WiFi settings on his phone, he realizes in horror that it can’t find any WiFi. He has unlimited data, so that’s fine, but he’s only getting 3g here and everything is slow as hell.

He runs down the stairs. “Uncle Ezra!! Uncle Ezra!”

“In here, dear boy,” he hears from the library. “I say, is everything quite alright?” Uncle Ezra asks as Warlock bursts into the library. He takes off his glasses and stands up, looking alarmed.

“Uh, I just forgot to ask you - what’s the WiFi password?” Warlock asks.

“WiFi?” Uncle Ezra asks, quizzically. 

“You . . . you _have_ WiFi, right?”

“Er, I’m not really sure what you’re talking about.”

“You know, _internet_?” Warlock asks.

“Oh! Yes, I do have internet. Right here on this computer.” Uncle Ezra points to a black dinosaur of a desktop that has a tiny square monitor.

“How _old_ is that thing?” Warlock asks in horror.

“Oh, I know it’s probably a few years out of date, but it suits me just fine. You’re quite welcome to use it for emailing your friends or Twitter or whatever it is you young people do these days.”

“UGH,” Warlock sighs in frustration. No WiFi, basically no internet. What even _is_ this place?

“I know that I’m not quite technologically up to date,” Uncle Ezra says, “and I’m very sorry. I’m sure you’re quite disappointed. But you truly are welcome in the library any time, as long as you’re careful with the books.”

Just then, the doorbell rings.

“Oh that’ll be Adam,” Uncle Ezra says, smiling fondly.

“Who’s Adam?” Warlock asks. He trails along behind his uncle as they head towards the front door.

When it opens, standing on the porch is a boy probably around Warlock’s age, dressed in khaki shorts and a striped t-shirt, with curly golden hair and a broad grin. He’s holding a plastic grocery bag with a brown paper takeout bag inside.

“Hey Mr. Fell. Here’s your weekly pasty delivery.”

Uncle Ezra beams. “Ah, thank you, dear boy. Old Mr Morris down at the pub didn’t give you too much trouble, I hope?”

“Nah, of course not.”

“Well, here is payment for your delivery. Keep the change, of course.” Uncle Ezra hands him a couple of notes which Adam stuffs into his pocket. When he looks up again, he makes eye contact with Warlock and stares at him quizzically.

Uncle Ezra notices him staring. “Oh! Forgive me for not introducing you! Adam, this is my nephew, Warlock. He’ll be staying for the summer.”

“Didn’t know you had a nephew,” Adam says. He turns back to Warlock and sticks out his hand. “Hullo! I’m Adam. My friends and I are hanging out at the chalk pit today if you want to come with.”

Warlock opens his mouth to say no thanks. He’s never really like hanging out with other kids his own age. But then he remembers that this house doesn’t have any WiFi and he’ll be stuck trying to make awkward conversation with Uncle Ezra all day. “Uh, sure?” he says.

“Oh cool! I was actually heading over there right now, so you could just come with if you want. You probably don’t know where anything is yet.”

“Not really.”

“Cool. Want to head out, then?”

Warlock looks around. “Do I . . . need to bring anything?”

“I mean, I don’t really think so. It’s just a chalk pit. We’ve got like, some fort stuff there already, and we haven’t decided on a new thing to do yet.”

Warlock looks sidelong at Uncle Ezra. “Is that . . . okay?” he asks. He’s used to “going somewhere” being a huge production with people and security and stuff. Uncle Ezra and Adam are being so casual about it, like he can just pick up and go and it’s not a big deal.

“What? Oh of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Do you need me to like, give you my mobile number or something?”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Here, let me write it down.” Uncle Ezra scrambles for something to write with and comes back with a takeout receipt and a fountain pen. He writes down Warlock’s number. “All set then?”

Warlock still feels uncertain. “Do . . . do you have a mobile or something I could call?”

“No mobile, but I do have a regular telephone! I suppose those are probably before your time. But it should work just the same, should you need anything. Let me give you that number.” Warlock dutifully punches it into his contacts.

“Well! Now that we have exchanged numbers and everything, you are quite free to go, boys. I trust you’ll keep Warlock out of trouble?” he says to Adam, with a crinkle in his eyes like it’s an inside joke.

“Absolutely, Mr. Fell! Even less trouble than normal!”

So Adam and Warlock set off down a dirt path that runs out behind the house and along the edge of the fields. Warlock is still having trouble wrapping his brain around the fact that Uncle Ezra just let him walk out of the house by himself. “So let me get this straight: there’s _no_ adults there? Like, none? You don’t have to check in with anyone?”

“Yeah I mean we have to be home by dinner but we all have watches and stuff. It’s fine,” Adam says.

“That’s. . . uh. Wow. That’s weird.”

Adam cocks his head and squints his eyes like he’s confused. “Yeah? How so?”

“I just don’t think I’ve ever been out of sight of a grownup since I was born.”

“Wow, that sucks. Well, you should come hang out! You can meet Brian and Wensleydale and Pepper. They’re pretty cool.”

They walk for a while, Warlock trying to look around at the fields and the low stone walls and the scrubby trees without looking too much like he’s staring. When they get to the chalk pit, it’s basically just a hole in the ground with a few scraggly trees shading it from the worst of the sun. Half of a rusty old car is poking out of some weeds, and there’s some milk crates, bits of boards, and some frayed rope bits hanging off of the trees.

Adam is met with a chorus of greetings that trails off when Warlock comes into view. Three pairs of eyes turn towards him curiously and he’s never felt quite so Examined before. He raises a hand nervously and wriggles his fingers in greeting.

“Hey everybody!” Adam says. “This is Warlock, Mr. Fell’s nephew. He’s staying there for the summer so I told him he could hang with us. Warlock, this is Brian, Pepper, and Wensley.” Adam gestures to a boy with messy clothes and brown hair, a boy with very large glasses wearing a polo shirt, and a girl with extremely curly hair pulled into a pigtail wearing a red poncho.

Warlock stands for a moment, trying to figure out where to sit down. He doesn’t want to get white dust all over his black jeans, so he doesn’t really want to sit on the ground, but there also aren’t any extra milk crates or anything left to sit on. 

Brian notices him looking around and scoots the milk crate he’d been sitting on over to Warlock. “Here, you can sit on mine; I don’t mind sitting on the ground,” Brian says.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Warlock says, still feeling extremely out of place.

“Alright, alright,” Adam says when everyone is settled. “The meeting to determine the next adventure of the Hole-in-the-Chalk gang is now in session! Who has an idea to propose?”

“What kinds of things do you usually do?” Warlock asks.

“Oh, you know. Explore stuff. Go on adventures. Build forts. For a while, the old car over there was a spaceship and we were space pirates rescuin’ the space princess from stuff.”

“Huh,” Warlock says. It sounds very different from how he usually spends his time, but then again, he’s never really spent a lot of time with other kids.

“Lately we’ve been getting into witch stuff,” Brian pipes up. “A new witch lady opened a shop downtown with herbs and crystals and stuff, so we’ve been learning about magyk,” he says, practically pronouncing the extra k. 

This was territory Warlock had at least _some_ footing in. “Oh! I’ve seen some of that. There’s witches and stuff on TikTok. There’s also, like, people trying to summon demons and stuff on there too. I’m pretty sure most of them are fake but it would be really neat if we figured out how to do it for real.”

“What’s TikTok?” Wensley asks. 

“Oh, it’s like a video thing, you make videos with music and stuff.”

“Like YouTube?” Wensley says, scrunching his forehead in confusion.

“Uh, not really. I’ll show you some if I can ever get any signal,” Warlock says.

“Demons sound pretty cool, actually.” Adam tilts his head, considering. “What do you think, guys?”

“I mean, isn’t that kind of dangerous?” Wensleydale asks.

“Maybe, but it’s not like the other stuff we’ve done hasn’t been dangerous,” Adam points out. “Besides, you could get a demon to do a lot of cool stuff for you, I bet.”

“You could get a demon to get us a super cool fort!” Brian says. “Like our own superhero base!”

“Or I bet we could help us to play some tricks on the Johnsonites,” Pepper says with a feral grin. “We still haven’t gotten them back properly for the last thing they did.”

“I heard that demons know a lot about science and math,” Wensley says. “Do you think we could get one show us cool stuff about space?”

“We get a demon to do whatever we want and you want one to teach you _math_?” Brian asks, incredulous. “It’s the holidays, who wants to _learn_ stuff??”

Wensley rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, so how do we go about summoning one?” He looks pointedly at Warlock.

“Well, uh, like I said, the people on TikTok haven’t actually managed to summon one yet so I think we’re going to have to look for more info,” Warlock says.

“Mr Fell has lots of books. Lots of really _old_ books,” Adam says. “Do you think he has a book about summoning demons?”

Warlock thinks back to all the weird knick knacks, strange jars, and antique-looking instruments, and the shelves full of books in every corner. “He definitely might. It looks like he has a lot of really old books and weird stuff in there.”

Adam sits up straighter and puts on some sort of ‘official announcement’ voice. “Alright Warlock, as your initiation into the Hole-in-the-Chalk Gang, you should go through your uncle’s library and see if you can find a book about summoning demons!”

Warlock thinks it might take the rest of the summer to find _anything_ in that house, but he has a sudden, desperate need to do anything that will make his new friends like him, so he mentally gears himself up for searching the house from top to bottom if that’s what it takes.

“And how were Adam and company?” Uncle Ezra asks when Warlock gets home. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over some sort of document with the ridiculous tiny little spectacles of his.

“Oh, just fine. Yeah. Uh, Adam’s pretty cool,” Warlock says.

“He’s a very nice boy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, uh, something like that.” Warlock stands there awkwardly for several seconds, not quite sure what to say next. Finally, Uncle Ezra breaks the silence.

“Well, I don’t know what you like for dinner but I thought we could have something simple - how do you feel about beans on toast?”

“Uh, I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever had that before,” Warlock says. The meals cooked by the chefs on his parents’ staff tended towards gourmet and/or “healthy”. This sounds like neither of those things.

“Never?’ Uncle Ezra says, raising an eyebrow. 

Warlock shakes his head. 

“Huh. If I recall, it was one of your mother’s favorites when she was a girl.”

“Huh,” Warlock says. “Well, it’s not like she cooks. We have chefs for that.”

“Ah, of course,” Uncle Ezra says. 

Warlock’s stomach growls. 

“Well, luckily it won’t take too long to make. Why don’t you go and get washed up?”

And, sure enough, after a quick hand washing, they’re sitting down to a dinner of tinned baked beans on toast with cheese grated on top. Warlock takes a bite and it’s . . . good, actually? He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it turns out he’s actually really hungry, so before he realizes, most of the food on his plate is already gone.

They’ve been eating mostly in silence, but it’s not the weird, sullen silence that happens whenever Warlock manages to eat dinner with his parents, and it isn’t as awkward as his previous silences around Uncle Ezra have been, either. Mostly it’s just them, eating, and it’s kind of nice.

“So,” Uncle Ezra says eventually, wiping his mouth with a real cloth napkin, “how was hanging out with Adam and the Them?”

“The Them?”

“Oh, you know. That’s just what everyone around here calls that little group. They’ve been running around and stirring up trouble together ever since they could walk, I should think.”

“Well, uh, they were pretty cool, I guess.”

“What adventures did they have in store for you today?”

“Not a whole lot, really, we mostly just sat around in the chalk pit and talked.”

“Splendid, splendid. Any plans for the evening?”

Warlock figures this is his chance. “I was, uh, kind of wondering if I could look around the library some more?”

“Oh! Yes! Of course! Absolutely! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find, or get down from a shelf or something. All the _really_ fragile books should be in the cold storage, but just be careful, alright?”

“Sure thing Uncle Ezra,” Warlock says. “Are you . . . planning on being in there tonight?” 

“Oh I may sit with you for a little bit, but I’ll try and stay out of your way.” He grins at Warlock conspiratorially. Warlock grimaces internally. He’ll have to be sneaky if Uncle Ezra’s in there with him.

After dinner, they both head up to the library. It’s a dark room, full of old wood bookshelves, a heavy-looking table, and a couple of very comfy (but ancient-looking) leather chairs. None of the books look like they were written in the last century, all leather and cloth bound with gold titles, some of them even locked in glass cases. 

Uncle Ezra settles himself into one of the arm chairs and puts his feet up on a footstool. As far as Warlock can tell, he’s completely engrossed in his book, but Warlock isn’t taking any chances. He tries to be as unsuspicious as possible, making it look like he’s just looking around to see what’s there instead of looking for anything in specific. Unfortunately, after he scans a few shelves, it looks like he’s going to have to search the whole library from top to bottom, because the books don’t seem to be organized in any order that he can figure out. He starts pulling random books off the shelf and flipping through them, keeping one eye on his uncle to see how he’ll react.

After a few random books, his uncle looks up and says, “Is there anything specific you’re looking for? I know they probably don’t seem organized to you, but I know where all of my books are.”

Warlock debates trying to say something vague like “supernatural” or “occult” but eventually decides not to risk it. “I’m good, just kind of looking,” he says.

“Well, don’t hesitate to ask,” Uncle Ezra says and goes back to his book.

After that, Warlock starts looking more in earnest. He finds a few likely-looking books that, upon further inspection, don’t really have much useful stuff in them. He’s starting to despair of ever finding what he’s looking for when he sees it, the Book, the perfect one. It feels almost like it’s calling to him, and as he flips through it, he discovers that it seems to be a complete list of demons and how to summon them and their sigils and everything. He checks to make sure he’s out of sight around one of the bookshelves before flipping through it more thoroughly. This is absolutely exactly what they need!

“Well I think I’m headed to bed for the night, don’t stay up too late, let me know if you need anything,” Uncle Ezra says, standing at the end of the row of bookshelves. Warlock nearly jumps out of his skin, but tries to recover and look normal.

“Yeah, uh, sure thing Uncle Ezra, I’ll probably go to bed soon too.”

“Just turn off the lights in here when you’re done,” he says.

Warlock waits for several minutes after his uncle leaves before poking his head cautiously out into the hallway. There’s no sign of his uncle, so he turns off the lights in the library and sneaks carefully back to his bedroom with the book. He stashes it under the bed as carefully as possible, then pulls out his phone. Pepper had been the only one with a phone, so he’d gotten her number before they’d all split ways at the chalk pit in case any new developments happened or they needed to get a hold of him. 

_Book acquired_

He’s not expecting a response but he gets back _great, will let Adam know_ after a couple minutes. He grins, puts the phone back down, and falls asleep dreaming of the chalk pit.

Warlock wakes up full of anticipation. He’s still not quite sure how he managed to sleep last night, but he’s more excited to show the book to Adam and everyone than he’s ever been, even for Christmas. He mumbles his way through breakfast and hopes Pepper told Adam that he’s found something, because it’s probably too early to be calling Adam’s house.

Thankfully, almost as soon as breakfast is over, the doorbell rings.

“Now who could that be?” Uncle Ezra says, his face scrunched in confusion.

Sure enough, it’s Adam. Warlock is practically vibrating out of his skin.

“Wow, Adam, you’re here . . . early,” his uncle says.

“Yeah we had a lot of fun with Warlock yesterday, I’m just here to steal him again, we’ve got some cool ideas for today,” Adam says.

“Nothing _too_ dramatic, I hope?” Uncle Ezra asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Lemme just go grab something,” Warlock says, heading up to his room and trying to figure out how he’s going to sneak the book past his uncle on the way out. After some hesitation, he grabs his top secret Ideas notebook. It’s risky, because there’s no way in hell he’s showing anyone what’s inside, but it’ll cover up the demon book nicely. He stuffs them both under his arm so that the notebook is on the outside and the demon book is (hopefully) completely hidden, and runs back down the stairs. Warlock has never, ever in his life, _run_ to get somewhere before, but he can’t help himself.

“Thanks Uncle Ezra! See you later!!” he says, and they slam the door behind them.

Everyone else is already waiting at the chalk pit by the time Warlock and Adam get there. As soon as Adam and Warlock crest the top of the ridge, Pepper starts chanting, quickly joined by Brian and Wensley, “Show us the book! Show us the book!”

“Okay well I haven’t had _too_ much time to read it but basically, the ritual seems mostly the same no matter what, we just have to pick what demon we’re going to summon and swap out whatever their sigil is,” Warlock says, trying to be As Helpful As Possible.

The Them gather around, all trying to shove their way in close enough to see. Everyone is impatient, jostling Warlock and each other as they try to read and point things out and turn pages. Several scuffles break out as they fight for position and argue about pages they want to see, but eventually, they manage to decide on a demon they’d like to summon and are able to find a list of ingredients and objects that they’ll need. Pepper whips out her phone to make a list.

“Alright, that’s paint for the pentagram, fancy candles, a knife or sword of some kind, incense, and a chalice.”

“Wot’s a chalice?” Brian asked.

“You know, like a goblet. A fancy cup,” Wensley says. 

“Alright, who’s getting what?” Adam says.

“Actually I think my dad’s got like, one of those fancy mug things. He got it in Germany at Oktoberfest or whatever. You know, with like, the little lid and the pictures all on it?” Wensley says. 

“Alright, so that’s that then. Sword?”

“My parents have some really fancy steak knives they only use for holidays,” Pepper says. “The handles are all shiny and I always have to polish them, so I think they’re like, real silver.”

“That sounds good, then. Brian?”

“Uh, I don’t know about incense, but my mum has like, a whole shelf full of those fancy-smelling oils,” Brian says. “And one of those little things you put water in so it squirts out the smell? It lights up and everything. Maybe it could be both the candle and incense.”

“Does it need a plug?” Adam asks.

“I don’t think so,” Brian says. “It’s like, rechargeable or something.”

“Sounds perfect, then. Great. I’ll get the paint, then.”

“I, uh, do I need to bring something?” Warlock asks, uncertain. He has absolutely no idea where anything might be in his uncle’s house, and he’s not sure he could ask about anything without giving away their plans, but he doesn’t want his new friends to feel like he’s not contributing.

Adam looks at him for a second. “Nah,” he says. “You found the book. Why don’t you just study up on the ritual to make sure we’re not missin’ anything and we’ll call it good?”

“So where are we going to summon it, then?” Wensley asks. “If we’re painting a pentagram, we can’t really do it here in the Pit. We’ll need like a basement or something.”

"You know," Adam says, "there’s like, a little shed out the back field of Mr. Fell's house that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t use. That way we’ve got somewhere nice and quiet-like to do it. That can be Warlock's contribution.”

“Oh, okay, great,” Warlock says. “So when are we going to actually do it then?”

“Might as well do it tonight,” Adam says. “We can all just sneak out and meet at your uncle’s house. Let’s say, 11:00?”

There’s a chorus of agreement from everyone and they all split up to go back to their separate houses.

That night, Warlock leaves his window open. He’d told his uncle that he was going to bed, but he is going to have no problem staying up to wait for everyone. He doesn’t think he’s been this excited in his life, not even for Christmas. His heart is pounding and he’s so, so restless. He just wants to _move_ , to jump and run and _go_ , for it to be _time_ already. He’s got the book open to the page with the ritual that he’s been trying to go over and familiarize himself with, but the words are old and weird, and even if they weren’t, he’s not sure he could focus well enough to read _anything_ right now.

Eventually, a little after eleven, he hears a soft “Oi!” from outside. When he sticks his head out the window, Adam and Brian and Pepper and Wensley are all standing outside with backpacks on. “Come on, get out here!” Adam whispers as loudly as possible.

“Be down in a sec,” Warlock shout-whispers back. He’s already got his shoes on, so he grabs the book, tucks it under one arm, and pokes his head cautiously out of the door to his room. His uncle isn’t anywhere to be seen, so he starts sneaking quietly down the hall towards the stairs.

As he’s tiptoeing down the hall, his uncle calls out from the library “Warlock? Is that you?” 

Warlock panics for a second, trying to figure out what to say and he blurts out “yeah, uh, just getting a midnight snack!” and hopes that his Uncle doesn’t follow up on it or anything. 

Thankfully, his uncle just says “you’re welcome to anything in the fridge, just try not to make a mess this late at night,” and is down the stairs and out the back door scott-free, as far as he can tell.

Adam leads the way to a ramshackle shed tucked away behind some trees near a fence. The door isn’t locked, although it does take some effort to get it open, with the way the hinges are rusted and the doors have sagged over the years. There’s some old dusty gardening tools and some truly _vintage_ wheelbarrows, but for the most part it looks like it hasn’t been touched in a very long time. 

They get to work clearing the floor and pushing stuff out of the way. Warlock gets sent back to the house to procure a broom, and after he manages to scrounge one up from the kitchen, he comes back to Adam and Pepper arguing about who is going to paint the symbols on the floor.

“Here Pepper, you draw the circle, you’ve got the best handwriting,” Adam says, trying to hand her the bucket and paintbrush.

“I do NOT,” Pepper retorted vehemently. “Also it’s sexist to make the girl do all your writing for you. Make someone else do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Warlock says. “My handwriting’s pretty good.” He doesn’t mention the fact that he draws for fear they’ll ask him to show them some of his drawings, but he’s pretty confident he can do a pentagram circle and the sigils. He gets to work with the small can of yellow house paint and the slightly crunchy paintbrush.

Around him, everyone else gets to work making a sort of “alter” at the back of the room, where they place the light-up essential oil diffuser, a big Christmas candle Brian had brought as an afterthought, the pearl-handled steak knife from Pepper, and the beer stein from Wensleydale. Eventually, Warlock stands up to admire his handiwork and looks over the room, and it looks pretty occult to him, especially since they all managed to scrounge it up with such short notice.

Behind him, there’s another scuffle about who gets to actually say the words. Pepper is a strong contender, but Adam wins, and he starts reading the words of the ritual, sounding out any Latin he gets to.

Wensley grumbles about Adam not pronouncing it right, but he hushes pretty quickly. Maybe it’s just the darkness, or the excitement of sneaking out, but it feels like there’s a tension in the air, like static electricity or the way the air gets weirdly calm as storm clouds are piling up in the distance.

Eventually Adam stops. “Alright, this is the part where we need some blood,” he says. 

“How much do we even need?” Wensleydale asks, eying the steak knife in Pepper’s hand with a grimace. “We don’t have to fill the whole cup, do we?”

“Probably not, that’s like, _so_ much blood,” Brian says. “Wouldn’t you like, pass out if you lost that much blood?”

“I don’t think so?” Warlock says. “But I don’t think we need a whole cup full. Just enough to drip on the sigil. If I remember right.”

“Alright, who’s cutting their hand open?” Pepper says, brandishing the steak knife.

Everyone shuffles around nervously, not looking at her or Adam in case they get picked. Pepper stares them all down fiercely in turn and huffs in frustration. Finally she says “Alright, new kid, this was your idea, give me your hand.”

“That’s mean! He’s new!” Brian says.

“Are you volunteering? No? Then shut up,” Pepper says.

Warlock really isn’t keen on getting cut open with a knife but he supposes this _was_ his idea, and he does really want to see a demon, and nobody else is volunteering. Finally he grimaces and stretches his hand out. “Just be careful okay?”

There’s a collection of gasps and winces from the others as Pepper lowers the knife. Her eyes snap up as she glares them all down. “Shut up you lot, I’m not going to cut his hand off.”

Brian clears his throat sheepishly. “I, uh . . . I actually have some alcohol wipes. So it doesn’t get infected,” he says.

“That’s actually a good idea for once, give me those,” Pepper says, snatching them and ripping them out of the package.

Warlock gives her his left hand (so as not to damage his drawing hand). He’s definitely _not_ nervous, not even a little bit. He’s shaking from excitement, that’s all.

He feels the pressure of the knife on the meat of his thumb and winces, but he tries to hold steady. Then, suddenly, his hand feels like it’s completely on fire and he yelps, trying to jerk his hand back. That makes it immediately worse and he’s trying not to completely lose it in front of everyone but there’s _definitely_ blood everywhere. The world kind of zooms out of focus around him and all he can focus on is the blood suddenly welling out of his hand, running through his fingers, throbbing, throbbing, throbbing out.

“Oh shit,” someone says. It feels distant, far away. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to cut his hand off!” someone says, probably Wensleydale.

“He moved! I wasn’t going to cut it that bad but he jumped!” Pepper retorts. It feels like the argument is happening somewhere else, playing on a radio in the next room. Warlock holds his hand out over the circle, letting the cascading drops of red splash onto the paint, onto the sigils and patterns. The painted lines feel like they’re humming, like powerful electric lines, like there’s a huge amount of power just waiting to be unleashed.

Somewhere, Wensleydale is saying that maybe they should stop, go get a grownup, go to the A&E or something. Still, the blood drips down into the circle and Warlock feels almost as if there is a strange energy taking hold of him, pulsing through him in time with the pounding in his ears. They’re still arguing in the background, a scuffle of some kind, like maybe they’re trying to take the book away from Adam.

“Don’t stop!” Warlock says and it comes out like a command. “Don’t waste the blood. Just finish it.”

Adam quickly mutters his way through the last bit of the ritual. The electric thrumming seems to get louder and louder as he says the words, until finally the last word clicks into place with a snap. The thrumming stops. There’s a sort of invisible “whoosh” as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, and everything is deathly still. The silence is deafening, all-encompassing, and Warlock has the strangest feeling that he’s paralyzed, frozen in time and space. The pentagram begins to glow, throbbing in time to Warlock’s heartbeat. Tendrils of smoke start to snake upwards out of the ground in the heart of the pentagram, glowing with an eerie yellow light. As the smoke starts pouring up faster, a terrible, terrible noise like the screeching of metal on metal starts growing louder and louder until the others are all covering their ears. Even though the sound is drilling a hole in his brain, Warlock can’t move, can’t look away, can’t do anything but let the blood from his hand continue to dribble into the circle. 

Something is rising up with the smoke, something horrible and wriggling, and the stench of a thousand sewage grates begins to fill the shack. Warlock is pretty sure at least one of the others is screaming, maybe crying, but Warlock can’t look away from the black-eyed, wriggling Thing forming itself out of thousands of tendrils of smoke. 

It opens a jagged, fanged maw and smiles nastily.


End file.
